"A Romance" - A Fiction Piece ...
by Eric Shapiro - 1/31/2012 - From Steve Stern's Fiction Writing Workshop ...
I live an ostensibly quiet existence. I spend most of my time buried in your subconscious, waiting and whispering. Striving silently to help you achieve your prime directive. I am responsible for the pleasure-inducing brain chemicals that reward you for doing what you are designed to do. Listen closely and you may hear me whispering. Everyone pays heed to the vocal cords as they unspool chains of consonants and vowels, providing a soundtrack for game of natural selection. But I am often minimized or willfully ignored. Mine is not a glamorous job, but it is a necessary one.
Every encounter with the prime directive is a two-fold interaction that involves more than just speech. Male and female: two variations on a blueprint, each on some level unfathomable to the other, trade verbal messages across an unbridgeable chasm. These messages are received as mere approximations of the thoughts that inspired them. All the while, primal entities whisper in code beneath the blanket of static, every idea of reproductive consequence delivered by implication, pheromone signals, and body language. This communication is the substance, the material of future generations, delivered in the form of subconscious urges. And I am their messenger.
Example:
John: Why hello there, Jane! Beautiful day, isn’t it?
Whisper: [I am an upbeat, emotionally well-adjusted person who takes pleasure in little things like good weather and will most likely not fall into a depression and shirk my child-rearing and bread-winning responsibilities].
Jane: Hi John! Good to see you! Unfortunately I don’t have much time to chat because I’m meeting my friends Jack and Josh in a few minutes.
Whisper: [I am a woman of some physical attractiveness who does not lack for male company. I could just ignore you and continue on, but I am vaguely intrigued and will allow you a minute or two to prove that you are in fact worthy of my attention].
John: Not too much. Just picking up a Mother’s Day gift for the old lady. Say, that’s a nice dress.
Whisper: [I am a devoted son who would likely transfer that devotion to you in the context of a committed monogamous relationship. I favor your garment because it accentuates your wide hips and ample posterior, which suggest that you are anatomically equipped to successfully bear my offspring].
Jane: Thanks, John! And yes, I got it a few days ago; Jill and Jen helped me pick it out. But don’t you think it makes my ass look kind of fat?
Whisper: [I am well aware that this garment displays my rear end in the most flattering way possible because I spent hours picking it out with my friends. However, I will feign insecurity so that you will boost my ego via a socially-mandated compliment.]
John: It looks fine.
Whisper: [It would be inappropriate for me to concur with your self-deprecating assessment, but I also refuse to give you the full-throated compliment you expect because that would lower my value by making me appear desperate to please you].
Jane: Thanks. Let me just say, I was so sorry to hear that you and Jess broke up. And it sucks that she treated you so badly. I’m sure you’re really upset.
Whisper: [I am aware that you are now single and therefore a potential mate. I will ask several loaded questions to get some idea of how you handle a breakup. If you come across as too distraught, I will question your emotional stability. If you seem too apathetic, I will question your capacity to invest fully in a hypothetical relationship between us. Show the proper balance of emotions in the wake of your breakup, on the other hand, and my assessment of your value will increase].
John: Yeah, it’s kind of a bummer. She didn’t treat me badly at all. She was an amazing girl and things were great while they lasted, but I decided that the relationship had run its course. To be honest, in a way I’m glad to be single again. Plenty of fish in the sea, right?
Whisper: [I am appropriately disappointed that my relationship is over, but use the impotent term “bummer” to imply that I have taken it in stride. My ex-girlfriend was a mate of high quality and so, by extension, am I. Despite having recently left a monogamous relationship, I am eager to start searching for a mate. Perhaps that can be you, if you are worthy.]
Jane: Sounds like you have a healthy attitude. Listen, it’s really nice chatting but I should go now before I’m late.
Whisper: [I am impressed that you have taken your breakup in stride and I have gained some respect for you. I enjoy your company, but not so much that I will forget about a prior commitment with my other males friends who are, by virtue of their chromosomes, automatically your competitors].
John: Well I’m pretty busy, but I might be able to chill next week. It’s always nice to catch up with an old friend.
Whisper: [I would like to enjoy your company at some point in the future, but I have an eventful life that does not revolve around spending time with you. It may involve courting other women, because I am a desirable, high-value mate. I suggest a platonic activity to foster a sense of ambiguity as to my intentions.]
Jane: Yeah, sounds good. Maybe we can grab coffee or something. You have my number, right?
Whisper: [I am open to seeing you again, provided that you take the initiative. I would prefer that it be in a casual public setting so if you fail to prove yourself a worthy mate, I reserve the right to claim I was only seeking friendship. You have my number].
John: Yeah, I was just gonna say I should get going too. See you later. Say hi to Jack and Josh for me.
Whisper: [I don’t mind if you leave because I am not needy or desperate. I too have an eventful life. In fact, I would have ended our conversation to commence with my own affairs even if you hadn’t made a prior commitment. I am not at all threatened by the fact that you are about to interact with other males, because I am a high-value mate confident in my masculinity and superior sexual prowess].
You may be thinking: does my highly clinical commentary not bar love from the equation? What of that intense rush of feeling you get just by being in another’s presence? What of the ultimate union that compels you to sacrifice your privacy and, to an extent, your independence to share your bed and spend your life with another human being who is most likely no more special than the countless other mates you could have ended up with had events played out differently on an infinite number of occasions?
And I answer thus: in my world love does not enter into the picture. This protagonist is not concerned with the dramatic emotional networks that the mind constructs to justify its existence. No, I am an agent of biological predestination, the mandatory programming implanted in you to maximize your chances on the wheel of genetic fortune. You owe to me a large part of what makes your lives worth living in a predictable narrative in which death commences the moment you are conceived. My job is to pass on your genetic code to the next set of units. I am with you as go through the ritual of courtship, whispering in your ear, making sure you will never, ever neglect to reach the prime directive.
Topics of conversation, setting, time: all window dressing. Your mind craves meaning, grist for the mill of compulsive and masochistic self-analysis that makes you a sentient human being. But in the end, all of your spiraling thoughts, all of your momentous ambitions, will collapse into nothing. Unless you achieve fame, and this is statistically unlikely, all you will leave behind is a genetic footprint, destined to grow fainter with each subsequent generation. And guess who’s responsible for that footprint, the only thing of permanence leave on this earth? Yours truly. And rest assured, I shall never change.
I live an ostensibly quiet existence. I spend most of my time buried in your subconscious, waiting and whispering. Striving silently to help you achieve your prime directive. I am responsible for the pleasure-inducing brain chemicals that reward you for doing what you are designed to do. Listen closely and you may hear me whispering. Everyone pays heed to the vocal cords as they unspool chains of consonants and vowels, providing a soundtrack for game of natural selection. But I am often minimized or willfully ignored. Mine is not a glamorous job, but it is a necessary one.
Every encounter with the prime directive is a two-fold interaction that involves more than just speech. Male and female: two variations on a blueprint, each on some level unfathomable to the other, trade verbal messages across an unbridgeable chasm. These messages are received as mere approximations of the thoughts that inspired them. All the while, primal entities whisper in code beneath the blanket of static, every idea of reproductive consequence delivered by implication, pheromone signals, and body language. This communication is the substance, the material of future generations, delivered in the form of subconscious urges. And I am their messenger.
Example:
John: Why hello there, Jane! Beautiful day, isn’t it?
Whisper: [I am an upbeat, emotionally well-adjusted person who takes pleasure in little things like good weather and will most likely not fall into a depression and shirk my child-rearing and bread-winning responsibilities].
Jane: Hi John! Good to see you! Unfortunately I don’t have much time to chat because I’m meeting my friends Jack and Josh in a few minutes.
Whisper: [I am a woman of some physical attractiveness who does not lack for male company. I could just ignore you and continue on, but I am vaguely intrigued and will allow you a minute or two to prove that you are in fact worthy of my attention].
John: Not too much. Just picking up a Mother’s Day gift for the old lady. Say, that’s a nice dress.
Whisper: [I am a devoted son who would likely transfer that devotion to you in the context of a committed monogamous relationship. I favor your garment because it accentuates your wide hips and ample posterior, which suggest that you are anatomically equipped to successfully bear my offspring].
Jane: Thanks, John! And yes, I got it a few days ago; Jill and Jen helped me pick it out. But don’t you think it makes my ass look kind of fat?
Whisper: [I am well aware that this garment displays my rear end in the most flattering way possible because I spent hours picking it out with my friends. However, I will feign insecurity so that you will boost my ego via a socially-mandated compliment.]
John: It looks fine.
Whisper: [It would be inappropriate for me to concur with your self-deprecating assessment, but I also refuse to give you the full-throated compliment you expect because that would lower my value by making me appear desperate to please you].
Jane: Thanks. Let me just say, I was so sorry to hear that you and Jess broke up. And it sucks that she treated you so badly. I’m sure you’re really upset.
Whisper: [I am aware that you are now single and therefore a potential mate. I will ask several loaded questions to get some idea of how you handle a breakup. If you come across as too distraught, I will question your emotional stability. If you seem too apathetic, I will question your capacity to invest fully in a hypothetical relationship between us. Show the proper balance of emotions in the wake of your breakup, on the other hand, and my assessment of your value will increase].
John: Yeah, it’s kind of a bummer. She didn’t treat me badly at all. She was an amazing girl and things were great while they lasted, but I decided that the relationship had run its course. To be honest, in a way I’m glad to be single again. Plenty of fish in the sea, right?
Whisper: [I am appropriately disappointed that my relationship is over, but use the impotent term “bummer” to imply that I have taken it in stride. My ex-girlfriend was a mate of high quality and so, by extension, am I. Despite having recently left a monogamous relationship, I am eager to start searching for a mate. Perhaps that can be you, if you are worthy.]
Jane: Sounds like you have a healthy attitude. Listen, it’s really nice chatting but I should go now before I’m late.
Whisper: [I am impressed that you have taken your breakup in stride and I have gained some respect for you. I enjoy your company, but not so much that I will forget about a prior commitment with my other males friends who are, by virtue of their chromosomes, automatically your competitors].
John: Well I’m pretty busy, but I might be able to chill next week. It’s always nice to catch up with an old friend.
Whisper: [I would like to enjoy your company at some point in the future, but I have an eventful life that does not revolve around spending time with you. It may involve courting other women, because I am a desirable, high-value mate. I suggest a platonic activity to foster a sense of ambiguity as to my intentions.]
Jane: Yeah, sounds good. Maybe we can grab coffee or something. You have my number, right?
Whisper: [I am open to seeing you again, provided that you take the initiative. I would prefer that it be in a casual public setting so if you fail to prove yourself a worthy mate, I reserve the right to claim I was only seeking friendship. You have my number].
John: Yeah, I was just gonna say I should get going too. See you later. Say hi to Jack and Josh for me.
Whisper: [I don’t mind if you leave because I am not needy or desperate. I too have an eventful life. In fact, I would have ended our conversation to commence with my own affairs even if you hadn’t made a prior commitment. I am not at all threatened by the fact that you are about to interact with other males, because I am a high-value mate confident in my masculinity and superior sexual prowess].
You may be thinking: does my highly clinical commentary not bar love from the equation? What of that intense rush of feeling you get just by being in another’s presence? What of the ultimate union that compels you to sacrifice your privacy and, to an extent, your independence to share your bed and spend your life with another human being who is most likely no more special than the countless other mates you could have ended up with had events played out differently on an infinite number of occasions?
And I answer thus: in my world love does not enter into the picture. This protagonist is not concerned with the dramatic emotional networks that the mind constructs to justify its existence. No, I am an agent of biological predestination, the mandatory programming implanted in you to maximize your chances on the wheel of genetic fortune. You owe to me a large part of what makes your lives worth living in a predictable narrative in which death commences the moment you are conceived. My job is to pass on your genetic code to the next set of units. I am with you as go through the ritual of courtship, whispering in your ear, making sure you will never, ever neglect to reach the prime directive.
Topics of conversation, setting, time: all window dressing. Your mind craves meaning, grist for the mill of compulsive and masochistic self-analysis that makes you a sentient human being. But in the end, all of your spiraling thoughts, all of your momentous ambitions, will collapse into nothing. Unless you achieve fame, and this is statistically unlikely, all you will leave behind is a genetic footprint, destined to grow fainter with each subsequent generation. And guess who’s responsible for that footprint, the only thing of permanence leave on this earth? Yours truly. And rest assured, I shall never change.